


First Take

by saishosystem



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: (y/n) insert is used, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Emotional Manipulation, Exploitation, F/M, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Rating May Change, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saishosystem/pseuds/saishosystem
Summary: You strolled right out of the Wildlife Exploitation Preserve years ago, avoiding your unknowing saviors after seeing them gun down anything and everything in the cells they opened.  That place was far behind you, and you eventually found a nice home— a family— with the Sun Smashers.It's just your luck to be the sole survivor of their annihilation, and it's all thanks to the vicious poking and prodding you received throughout your childhood."I told you, I'mnot a Siren.""... Hit her again."As luck would also have it, a certain scarlet-tattooed Calypso sees something of a kindred spirit in you.
Relationships: Troy Calypso & Tyreen Calypso, Troy Calypso/Reader, Tyreen Calypso & Reader, Vaughn & Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

"I don't know, Vic..." you rub the back of your neck nervously. "Vaughn said we shouldn't—"

"Why don't you just _chill out_ , lab rat?" She scoffs, holding the Vault map under one arm. "Have some slappin' sense, yeah? If we hide it, do you think the CoV'll find it eventually?"

You bite your cheek, thinking, "Yeah... I'm sure they probably will..."

"And if they find it, do you think they'll figure out we hid it?"

"They might not, Vic..."

"What if they do?"

You bite harder this time. "We die."

"Right," she cocks her head to one side, "We die."

It would've been hard for Vic to convince you to help... incapacitate your fearless leader. Which is why she didn't, instead telling you to get a head start to the technical while she explained to Vaughn what the plan was.

"He's not with you...?" You ask, a bit deflated.

Her expression says, "What does it look like?"

With a sigh, you hand the unsurprisingly-heavy Vault map back to her, "Look, Vic, I'm not opposed to what you're doing here, but can I just stay at camp?"

"Uh... No?" Vic scoffs, internally beginning to panic. Sure the half of the clan still at home was fine with leaving Vaughn hanging, but _(y/n)_? "No."

The shorter girl frowns and stops walking, causing Vic to cringe involuntarily. "Why not?"

"Well first, the Calypsos are some godhead maniacs, so I wanna bring as many people as possible. They get off to their devotee count," she shrugs, "We're already short half the family _plus_ Vaughn. You gotta stick with me."

Before you can speak, she adds, " _And_ if you come, it'll be easy to wrangle the idiots we _are_ taking, see?"

At that, you nod. That makes sense. You were never particularly violent— strange for a girl who calls a bandit clan family— but Vaughn helped you ease into it, if that's in any way a good thing. You've come to understand that, for some folks, there's fun to be had in the gore and viscera. It's not your cup of tea, but a glass of Happy Home absolutely is. It just so happens that that glass is a little bloodstained.

You climb into the passenger seat of the technical and Vic half shoves the Vault map into your lap before starting up the truck. With several metallic thuds, you assume a handful of your bandit friends hopped into the back. And with the roaring of a several engines somewhere behind you, you realize that half the clan is a _lot_ of people.

 _Maybe this is a mistake_ , you think, but with the landscape of the Droughts racing past your window, you make the simple resolution to do the best you can moving forward. It's all you've ever done, and really, all you can ever do.

There's a scratching, tickling sensation slowly rising in your throat, and you move in the seat to reach in one of the deep pockets of your long coat. Just the feeling of the two canisters is enough to calm you down, the itch receding back down your esophagus. You feel the volatile substance humming in the cans, something akin to a lullaby felt through your fingertips, and you relax. Eventually, you pull your hand away.

"You good there, lab rat?" Vic glances at you. "You were, uh... sparkling."

"Sparkling...?"

"Just— forget it. We'll be there in a few minutes. Are you ready?"


	2. Chapter 2

_I was not ready._

It is impossible to hear anything. Kneeling and leaning over a profusely bleeding Vic, you keep your head down below the concrete barrier and wipe some dirt off your face. You bite your lip when you feel yourself smear her blood across your cheek, the slightly raised ridges of your tattoo rubbing against the pad of your thumb. 

Deafened as you are, some of the bullets that hit the white-grey stone send a dull thud through your body, and once or twice, you almost think you actually _were_ shot. Under you, Vic feebly tries to push you away, but you stay right where you are, steeling your nerve. With an inhale, you straighten upright and fire your pistol three times. Two CoV fanatics drop to the ground.

Suddenly, your hearing starts to return: piercing shots whizzing past your position, the occasional body dropping either behind or ahead of you, your boots grinding the loose dirt underneath as you shift, screams from your family, screams from the Children of the Vault, Vic's hoarse voice begging you to just _go_.

Then, rapid footsteps approaching your barrier from the other side. The second a hand appears at the top of the crumbling wall, you grab its wrist. By the time the masked girl vaults over your hiding place, she falls to the ground beside you, the skin of her left arm curled and peeled away from her flesh in certain areas. The sight of the shades of red, pink, brown, and grey decorating her limb is almost as foul as the stench emanating from the shock-seared meat. You grimace and pull the electricity back into you, away from the surface of your skin, and let go of her arm. _I wonder if her eyes are still open under the mask..._ A few of the Sun Smashers near you cheer.

An equal parts bitter and sour taste explodes in your mouth, and you try your best to swallow it down, almost choking. Jaw clenched, you reach into your coat's pocket, pulling out one of the purple, thick-walled canisters. Unscrewing one end slowly, you're careful not to spill any on the now unconscious Vic. An even darker violet swirls inside. You lift it to your mouth and take four gulps of the slag, finishing off half of the can. It _feels_ like drinking lukewarm cream of wheat or rice cereal for toddlers, the occasional grain of god knows what slipping down your throat. The taste is something else entirely; it's overwhelmingly metallic and salty, with a flavor that reminds you of the _smell_ of raw meat.

You drop the can back in your pocket, feeling it hit your leg, the corrosive taste washed out of your mouth and suppressed by the slag. With a few deep breaths, you sit up and fire off twice, lodging a bullet in another fanatic's neck. He hits the dirt with a gargling noise, and you take one last look at Vic before dashing out from behind the concrete slab, advancing to the doorway of the building. It'd be easier to handle them being funneled out one, maybe two at a time. Your knees scrape against the ground as your drop to a crouch behind another of the several blocks of concrete littering the path towards the Holy Broadcast Center. Of course the CoV were more than prepared for a firefight.

Further behind you now, the remaining Sun Smashers who weren't killed or captured advance in the opposite direction, towards the gate where the vehicles were parked, gunning down the guards along the way. A small handful stay close to you to help staunch the flow of cult maniacs rushing out of the building. Bodies begin to pile up in the hallway leading inside.

You blink.

In that split-second span of time, you learn that about half of the corpses apparently _weren't_ corpses, seeing how they've contorted into black crystallized husks along with the few fanatics trying to scramble over them. A spherical drone plows through the petrified people, throwing black dust into the air with flecks of purple that catch the light.

"... and not only did those lost souls say 'no' to becoming our dear brothers and sisters..."

The blood in your veins just about freezes as the God Queen herself emerges from the billowing remains of her loyalists, the taller Calypso slinking out of the dark cloud behind her. You find it extremely difficult to pull your eyes away from the dangerous red glow of the markings on his arm.

The camera drone closes in on one of your clan members to the left of you, then zips back to the white-haired starlet, who offers a mock pout. "But to top it off, they _murder_ those of our family who only wanted to show their devotion!" Tyreen's expression shifts to a sad smile. "Our divine love isn't a gift rejected lightly—"

**BANG!**

She turns her head slightly to marvel at the bullet lodged in the wall beside her head. The camera swivels, too, zooming in on the hellish insult to the Twin Gods, then pans back to her. You didn't expect the petite young woman to command this much attention to herself. It's in her posture, her tone, the tilt of her head, the curve of her lips. If you didn't know better, you'd think you were turned to jagged stone, just like her devout followers only moments ago. Tyreen meets the drone's gaze, her teeth making a threatening appearance in her wicked grin. She goes on:

"... So here's a little heads-up. Are you ready?"

You fight the urge to cringe, shiver, and gag simultaneously.

_Here we go again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure if I'm even capable of writing violence that's graphic enough to bump the rating. 
> 
> I'm not too great at judging ratings or telling if I need to slap a warning in the tags, so if anyone could point me in the right direction, it'd be mega helpful for me and maybe anyone else who _might be_ thinking of reading my work(s).


	3. Chapter 3

Turns out, you aren't ready this time either.

The handful of still-breathing fanatics fling themselves at the Sun Smashers closest to the Twin Gods, yourself included. They disarm your clan mates, and between the jostling shoulders of the maniacs surrounding you, you see the remainder of your fellow bandits turn and run. Part of you is relieved, another is bitter.

Your right wrist is suddenly twisted out of place and your pistol drops to the ground. Rather than waste hands picking it up, a masked fanatic kicks it out of your sight. One of their hands is slapped over your lips.

Looking around, you take a headcount of how many of you were actually caught: 6 counting yourself. One of which is the brave idiot who thought firing a round at the God Queen was a good idea. There are three fanatics holding him still while Tyreen sidles up next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. The spherical drone hovers a few feet from their faces.

"This clever boy here," she starts, "Spoke on behalf of his family with that _pathetic_ attempt." The young woman lightly nods towards the bullet in the wall meant for her head. "So now, on behalf of my family— _our family_..."

She clamps the hand not on his shoulder over his mouth, grinning devilishly. You shiver at the thought of how intense her direct eye contact must be if she can still manage to be suffocatingly commanding through cameras and screens.

His screams are muffled in her hand, and by the way the muscles in her arm flex slightly, you can tell she's pushing even harder. From the feet up, his body crystallizes into the same black and purple masses formed from the CoV husks crowding the entrance. Her eyes are full of delight watching him wither into a husk, and you notice something different.

It's slower.

Tyreen looks like she's dragging out the process for as long as she can, the drone panning up and down to capture every second of his agony. Once the crystallization reaches his collarbones, his howls stop. His head lolls back and Tyreen supports it with the arm around his shoulder. She doesn't remove her hand for another few seconds.

When she does, it's with a bit of force. Bits of purple crystals are stuck to her palm and she casually scrapes it off with her fingernails while resuming her speech.

You don't get to listen however, as the groupies holding you in place come to an agreement over something you were too distracted to pay attention to. The hand on your own mouth inches upwards slightly, blocking your only other means of breathing. You thrash, kicking at the legs of everyone surrounding you. Every CoV fanatic aside from those restraining you has their eyes fixed on the petite God Queen. Each Sun Smasher in also in captivity casts you a glance at least once, but no one looks eager to help you. And you don't blame them.

The one who _does_ take notice is the one unafraid to ignore Tyreen's preaching, and that was the other Calypso.

Troy, standing behind the drone, meets your gaze. His expression is one of irritation as he looks at one of your immediate captors, moving his hand in a subtle gesture as if to say _Get on with it already_.

One of the last things you hear before you lose consciousness, your chest searing with pain, is Tyreen's laughter as she enthusiastically guides the drone to the next Sun Smasher in line, a girl only a few years older than you. And the last thing you see? Tyreen's hands cupping your clan-sister's face and the jagged black stone that sprouts from the side of her head.

"What the _hell_ , Pete?"

"Uh— I don't... I mean—"

_SLAP!_

With a wince, the man (boy?), Pete starts over. "I know what I saw, J. She grabbed her an' fried the her. I saw the sparks an' everything. She's a Siren, like the Calypsos. Like... Like Ty—"

Another slap and wince.

The deeper voice returns, "Like a false god. Like a heretic. But that doesn't seem to be the case, now does it?"

You're vaguely aware of being shaken by a tight grip on your left arm. Your bare, left arm. You roll your shoulders lightly, noting the distinct lack of your long jacket.

At your slight movement, the voices hush. They pick up again a few seconds later, starting with Pete. "I swear I saw her do it."

"Then where are they?"

" _I don't know, J._ "

Someone groans, 'J' you assume. "The Twin Gods have them. The fucking Firehawk has them. Some Vault-Hunting _nobody_ has them. Tell me why you think this is an exception."

J doesn't give Pete a chance to answer and continues whisper-yelling: "You withheld a sacrifice to the Twin Gods on a dumbass hunch... Idiot."

Heavy footsteps walk further away from where you're sitting. From the sound of things, and numbness from the hips down, you guess you're in a small holding cell of some kind. You hear a metal door swing open and shut, followed by a loud click.

There's some shuffling to your left and someone's breathing gets closer to you. Something is draped over your lap.

"I know you're awake now." Pete's voice reaches you and you open your eyes. Thankfully, the room is just dimly lit by an old ceiling lamp. You meet the gaze of a surprisingly warm pair of brown eyes. They're accompanied by a wry smile.

"Pete," you say dryly. Very dryly, in fact. The effort it took to squeeze out one syllable makes you realize how thirsty you are and you sigh.

He leans closer to your face by just a bit and squints, reading the sequence just under the bar code on your cheekbone. He responds slowly, "TS... 216."

Pete moves so he can sit beside you, slouching against the wall. He lazily points to your jacket laying on across your legs. "You can put that back on if you're cold."

"It's fine."

The two of you sit in silence. Once in a while, Pete swipes short locks of his blonde hair out of his eyes. Maybe they get in the way of his view of the floor. Thrilling.

You don't bother trying to put your jacket back on, settling for balling up portions of it in your fists. A light tug and lack of resistance lets you know that your canisters are missing.

"Why are you still here?" You ask, not looking away from a particular spot on the wall in front of you.

"Door's locked." He doesn't look away from the floor.

You hum in response. Then, "Why?"

"J locked it."

Before you can ask anything else, he goes on, "I got myself into some hot water bringing you in here. They were s'pposed to off you with those other bandits out front... Now you have to wait 'til they round up the rest of your gang and execute you all at once."

You swallow. _The rest? Did they not get away? The CoV know where our base is, but would they bother?_

Pete shakes his head in your peripheral, muttering, "Shoulda just joined..."

Another couple of minutes pass. "What did you _think_ I had?"

"Tattoos." For once since he's sat down, he looks at you. "Not like the one right there... the uh..." He stirs the air near his arm with one finger. "The swirly Siren kind."

"I'm not a—"

"Yeah, I got that."

Eventually, you fall asleep against the wall, trying your best to enjoy breathing while you can. If they do catch everyone else, at least you wouldn't be alone when this cult puts you down.

Then the thought of Vaughn crosses your mind. How he took you in. How he helped build you up from nothing. Guilt swells in your heart, weighing it down. You'd rather die alone then. He doesn't deserve this.

At the very least, Pete here bought you another day.


End file.
